


Homecoming

by BlueCircle



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Connor, Clothed Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Power Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Sleepy Sex, Smut, Top Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Trust, fuck Markus blank, rk1k - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-08 16:05:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueCircle/pseuds/BlueCircle
Summary: Markus comes home from a long business trip and fucks Connor in his fancy suit.





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> It's pretty pointless fluff and smut. :)

A few days after CyberLife went under, Connor easily hacked their classified files and found his own user manual. Before even opening the file, he'd send a copy to Markus, just in case anything should happen to him in the field. He had not found a manual for Markus; if he had, he would have sent it without opening it. Back then—and this had been a year ago—he was just starting to figure out that sometimes privacy was more important than safety, as long as there were no immediate threats.

He probably should have read his own manual before sending it to Markus, and redacted pages 36-39, as he had done before sending it on to Hank. 36-39 were “Sexual Anatomy, Functions, and Programs of the RK800.” Connor had always known what his equipment was, and been aware of what the programs were for, but since he'd never had to use them, he hadn't paid them any attention. The manual specified that all of his parts, and all of his functions, had been thoroughly quality tested and had met all standards. Connor had no memory of any such testing, which was probably for the best.

A few months after that, Markus had kissed him. And a few weeks after that, they had talked about the manual, and Markus had told him that he hadn't read that section. At all. Hadn't even glanced at it. 

“Primarily to respect your privacy,” Markus had told him. “But also because I'd like to discover those things for myself, if you're ever up for that.”

Connor's processors were fast, but deviancy had made his social programs lapse and sometimes crash, as he weighed his responses now with emotions. It was not the first, nor the last time Markus had made him sit there with his mouth hanging open.

But that was last year, and by now, Markus had discovered a great many things about those functions. Some things that Connor already knew, from reading his own manual, and from the biocomponent readings when he did system checks. But Markus was determined to find unprogrammed ways to get them both off. It was a thing with him, another way to defy expectations and to stick it to CyberLife. 

He'd even dropped it in a speech once: “Humans created us, but our destiny is now our own. We will find ways to work, ways to eat, ways to play, ways to feel, ways to make love, ways to live and ways to die, that are purely our own decisions. We will live on our own terms.”

There was only so much they could do differently, obviously. They had interfacing, which gave a level of intimacy that humans couldn't share. Their anatomy was different; they could find trust intimacy in ways that would be dangerous for humans. But the basics were still the same: they had human-shaped genitals and pleasure-centers that reacted the same way that humans' did. Connor had researched this.

He was lying on the sofa of the studio he shared with Markus—thank you, Carl—trying to recharge because Markus insisted he did so. Connor hadn't been made with the necessity of recharging often. Most androids didn't, but deviancy-- _feelings_ \--took a lot of CPU. Markus charged nightly, though by now they should probably just call it “sleep.” Connor had a harder time; some nights, he would start to fall into low power mode, but thoughts and feelings would keep him too alert. If he had a case at work, sometimes he would go days without sleeping. But Markus was correct: doing this reduced his output. 

And the last week had been draining. There had been long stake-outs that the humans simply couldn't do. Hank always wanted to be on them with him, but there was just no way; he couldn't stay awake for days straight the way Connor could. He'd had to listen to humans fighting with each other, having sex, making plans, committing crimes. It wasn't a part of his job that he enjoyed.

But that assignment was over—mission complete--and Markus's ETA was six minutes. He'd left for Washington four days prior, but was in a taxi back to their home. It felt nice, to lie comfortably on the sofa and wait for him. It felt nice to have that to look forward to, after such a hard week at work, and after days apart. Connor missed seeing his face.

_Incoming request: Markus  
Y/N?_

>>I'm here,  
Connor said. 

>>Good. I can't wait to see you. Did you get some rest today?

>>Enough,  
Connor said.  
>>About three hours.

Markus liked to sleep for five, when he could. He didn't necessarily have to, but it cleared his processes... his thoughts. He was more efficient and generally happier. Five was Connor's absolute limit for sleep, and usually he had to force himself.

>>Fair enough,  
Markus said.

>>I'm not too tired, if you were wondering.

>>Well shit,  
Markus laughed.  
>>I'll be there in a second.

Connor rested happily on the sofa while he waited for the door to open. Alone in the house, he had started to dress himself more comfortably. North had suggested a few months ago that maybe if he didn't dress like he was so uptight, he wouldn't be. Turned out North was correct. (She was correct about a number of things. Connor liked her. How interesting it was that there was now a small group of people, humans and androids both, whom he considered close friends.) It also turned out that he liked wearing Markus's clothes, too, particularly when he was gone for a long time. Tonight it was one of his old gray t shirts. Markus's shirts were always slightly too big for Connor, making them extra comfortable.

Connor had also discovered that he liked nice things. He loved finding out these facts about himself – that he had a functioning personality outside of his programming. He didn't like clothes to be too scratchy, especially underclothes. Underwear in particular had to be both fitted and soft, so one of the first things he had done when he started receiving paychecks was to buy himself the most comfortable underpants he could find; not cheap. Soft heather grey cotton ones were his favorite. 

He was feeling them right now, in fact, running his fingers over the front.

>>Hey!  
Markus said in mock consternation,  
>>Are you starting without me?

>>Hurry home and I won't finish without you,  
Connor teased.

>>You'd better be able to hold out for...ninety seconds.

Markus didn't have to tell him how close he was; Connor had already heard the taxi pull up. Strange how, now that Markus was home safe, Connor suddenly felt like he wanted to go into low power mode. _Drowsy_ , was probably the human word for it. But pleasantly so.

Markus came through the door in his long, black overcoat, and his very fancy business attire, black jacket and trousers, white oxford, and a tie that had been hastily loosened on the way.

Connor generally liked him in black, but more than that, he had missed seeing in person the way Markus carried himself, the soft lines of his face, the silhouette of his shape that Connor had come to know so well. 

“Welcome home,” he said.

Markus shrugged off his long coat and hung it on the peg next to the door. “You look tired,” he told Connor.

Connor lifted one shoulder, his hand still on the front of his underpants. “Hard week at work. It's over now. You look exhausted, yourself.”

“Just glad to be home,” Markus said. “God, look at you.”

Markus was an artist; looking was important to him. Connor had been built to analyze, but he'd learned that he also enjoyed looking for aesthetic purposes. Markus's eyes. He greatly enjoyed looking at them. Markus's broad shoulders as he peeled off his dress jacket and pulled his tie off. Markus's face as he turned again to see Connor staring at him, fondling himself.

Four strides of Markus's long legs took him over to the sofa where he climbed onto Connor without another word of greeting, straddled his hips, and tongued the outline of Connor's mouth.

How had a week felt like forever? Their internal clocks were precise down to nanoseconds.

_Mine._

Markus, who had led a revolution and won. Markus, who had walked into the line of fire and taken bullets for his cause. Markus, with his cunning, silver tongue in Connor's mouth. Markus, the impossible dream.

“Shhh,” Markus whispered against his lips. 

_Oh,_ yes, he'd been making noises again – but Connor had learned that Markus's shushing usually meant he wanted to hear more. It was a strange thing he did, some part of his caretaker program that prompted him to soothe, when his desires, the ones that had formed outside of his programming, wanted _more_ from Connor.

And Connor's own negotiator routines had clued him in to subtle things like this; ways he could give Markus what he wanted, so that they could both get what they wanted in the end.

-Markus liked to hear his own name. He smiled when Connor said it.

-Markus enjoyed controlling the situation.

-He was a little afraid of losing control, himself.

-Markus really liked when he moaned. His pupils dilated (the blue one a decisecond slower than the green.)

-Once in a while, Markus liked to be dominated, but he always did so with a little half-smile; Connor considered any wavering of that self-assuredness as a safe-word of sorts. If Markus was going to be undignified, it was always by choice.

“Connor?” Markus leaned up, sitting his full weight across Connor's hips. “I can see you processing things even without interfacing. What are you thinking?”

“About you,” Connor said. “Things that I know you like.” He shifted beneath Markus, urging him to get a move on. 

Markus stilled him with his hands on his hips. “What about what you like? Why don't you tell me?”

“You.” Connor went to grab the front of his shirt, but Markus held his hands down and leaned close to his face.

“I know that. I want something specific. I already know what you like physically. I need to know what you want now, in this moment.” 

To make his point, he reached between them and squeezed Connor softly through his underwear, rubbing at him with that confidence and boldness of his that always made Connor writhe. 

“What feels good inside?” he pressed.

Connor could have—and wanted to—fire off another annoyed ' _You_ , but that would ruin the mood. Markus had a way of always demanding more from him, and he wouldn't take half-answers or snark, not when he was like this. 

Leaning forward again, without removing his hand from Connor's cock and keeping up the pressure and friction that made Connor's CPU stutter, Markus kissed him chastely on the mouth and said “Think about it for a minute, then tell me.”

_Fuck_ this RK200, Connor thought irritably, for always pushing him like this. Lucky for Markus that Connor loved him a lot. 

“I like...”

>>Praise  
>>Knowing that you love me back   
>>Feeling wanted  
>> **All of the above**

“I like knowing that you desire me. I like the way it feels when I know that you love me, that you want me... And sometimes I like giving up control. I was created to accomplish missions and to complete sets of tasks. You make me forget about that, and it feels good. It feels good when I can't come up with a list of prompts and my subroutines stop running. When I can't come up with _anything_ , just sensations and _you._ Maybe because I was designed to always be in control, I like being overwhelmed sometimes, but only by you. You fascinated me from the second I saw you on that video screen, and I was terrified of what I knew you could do to me. Now it's all I want.”

Markus had stilled his hand while he listened, rapt, his eyes wide, mouth open. 

“You asked,” Connor said, jerking his hips upward and reaching to put Markus's hands back on him.

But Markus pushed his hands away and instead slotted one knee between Connor's thighs, and stifled his gasp with his tongue. As Connor worked quickly on the buttons of Markus's starchy white shirt, Markus seated himself fully between Connor's legs, pushing his thighs apart with his broad palms. Connor already had Markus's buttons undone and was in a hurry now, trying to pull him down. But Markus just ran his hands lightly up and down the insides of Connor's thighs, slowly grinding his hips. His dress pants were still on, too tight, the clean lines of them ruined. When Connor reached for the button, again Markus swatted his hands away impatiently.

“ _Markus_ ,” Connor huffed.

“No, no,” he said, patiently, never ceasing the slow movements of his hips. “You like this suit on me, right? You like to look.”

“I do,” Connor admitted. 

And Markus liked to preen, too.

“I missed you,” Markus said. “I want to go slow.”

Connor was really tired, and Markus had to be, too, so he'd had—he guessed it would have been called “a quickie” in mind—but now that Markus was here, slipping both hands under the soft material of his underpants, and just using his thumbs to circle his hips... this was nice. Better than nice. He really didn't need that much sleep, anyway.

“What exactly do you have in mind?” Connor asked.

Markus lifted one elegant shoulder, and Connor watched as the material of his shirt lifted with it. “Not sure. I just kind of wanted to take my time and play with you a little. Can we do that?”

Oh, maybe Markus was talking about-- 

>>Edging?  
Connor asked, opening up a connection.  
>>You want to make me hold out? I can do that. Probably. Maybe.

>>No, not exactly that,  
Markus answered.

“Just slow.” He leaned forward, bracing on his elbows over Connor, grinding their hips together, the fabric of his pants, the scratch of the zipper dragging over his cock under the soft cotton. 

_That_ was a different sensation.

“Clothes on?” Markus smirked into his neck.

“Yes,” Connor panted. “Clothes on is good.”

Markus reached down between them, drew down his zipper, and rolled his own underwear down just enough, as he licked and sucked wet marks onto Connor's neck. Connor gripped the fabric of his shirt on one hand, the back of his expensive black pants in the other, pulling him down harder. Markus got up on one hand and rucked Connor's soft shirt up, running his hand up and down his chest.

“Kiss me?” Connor said.

Markus wrapped his hand under Connor's jaw and held him still, kissing deeply, licking into him. Connor felt his arms go staticky and fall to his sides; he didn't have enough CPU to deal with his entire body with that going on.

Connor always wanted this; he craved it, being touched all over, wrapped up in another person and held, it made his skin feel pleasantly warm when it was a friendly, affectionate touch, and hot all over when it was like this, with Markus. He could remember a time when touch didn't matter to him, unless it was painful or dangerous. He couldn't conceive of living like that again, not with Markus holding him like this, hand on his face, tongue in his mouth, hips pressed between his thighs. It was hard to get through those times, weeks, sometimes, when they were apart.

Markus let go of his chin and reached down to push the fabric of his underpants aside and rub at him before pushing a finger inside. This was a courtesy not necessary to androids, but Connor liked it nonetheless – the intimacy of having Markus's fingers in him, his tongue in his mouth, his cock running up the crease of his hip. And they were both anatomically identical to humans when it came to sexual responses – solely for the purpose of allowing a human to think they were pleasuring him, if he'd ever needed to use his sexual protocols. The fact that he _could_ feel pleasure—from the leader of the deviants, no less—made it seem somehow more defiant. 

The fact that a CyberLife had built him for the purpose of murdering this man, and now here he was on his back for him, spread open beneath him... the fact that he was the one android who was never supposed to break his programming, and yet a few words from Markus had him tearing down those walls... Connor had come to realize that he really enjoyed irony.

Markus withdrew his fingers, moved Connor's leg aside so he could pull the underwear off (god he was quick,) then pushed his legs open again so he could slide in...

It was just taking too long. Connor linked his fingers through the belt loops of Markus's fancy black pants and jerked him forward, hard.

Markus let out a startled “ _Ah!_ ” sound which turned into a breathless, disbelieving laugh.

“Connor, you _cheater_ ,” he gasped.

“I'm not a cheater. I'm a tactician and I made the decision to employ a power move.”

He did it again, only this time he unbalanced Markus and had him falling forward, bracing one hand on the back of the couch, the other beside Connor's head. Connor pulled the belt loops again and Markus's eyes rolled back, his head dropped forward, and his amused consternation unravelled. 

_Markus_ unravelled, panting to cool down his systems, gasping out Connor's name in surprise as Connor planted one heel into the sofa for more leverage as he jerked Markus forward again and again.

“Jesus Christ, Connor,” he gritted out. “So much for going slow.”

“I missed you. We can go slow later. Round two, or three.”

Markus leaned down so his forehead was resting against Connor's neck. He was slightly bigger, broader, and heavier than Connor. CyberLife's big secret was that Markus was stronger, too. Kamski had built him like a smaller, more compact TR400: made for hard work and heavy lifting. Connor was faster, he knew how to win a fight, but had not been built for durability. Connor was grateful every day that Markus had made him break from his programming before they fought each other. They would have been evenly matched.

Markus's weight on top of him felt good, grounding, pleasant on top of the sexuality of it. Connor was forcing short bursts of breath out of him, and once in a while a stuttered attempt at his name. Markus had walked through the door expecting to take him apart, but now he was going to pieces above him. 

Connor took pity on him and released his grip on his belt loops, allowing Markus to slow down to his own pace. He slipped his hands under of Markus's shirt and pet softly down his back as Markus nuzzled into his neck, murmuring his name. 

“Connor,” he said. “You're going to reset me.”

“Maybe you need a soft reboot,” Connor suggested.

Markus laughed against his skin. “You're too much.”

“I am.”

When Markus went slow like this, it sometimes made him feel like he was on fire, boiling from the inside, overclocking in slow motion. Markus could make him come like this, without using his hands. That was how it had happened the first time they'd had sex: this build-up of pleasure, that he was feeling now – how it had broadsided him the first time and made him panic.

_I think I'm dying,_ he'd tried to say.

' _The little death,_ ' humans called it, and he understood why. Markus had laughed at him when he researched it later.

The suddenness of it no longer surprised him; he pulled at Markus's shirt and locked his legs behind his hips; the scratch of his wool-blend dress pants not unpleasant against his skin. He didn't try to bite back the drawn-out moan that it dragged out of him. Markus kissed his shoulder messily.

' _I would die for you,_ ' Connor had told him once, early on, and Markus had said, ' _No, I don't want that,_ ' his words muffled, mouth against Connor's neck like it was now, ' _I just want your love._ '

Markus had not been wrong when he'd said that Connor was going to reboot him, because he went suddenly still, and Connor recognized the collapse of his physical functions just before they happened and Markus fell on top of him.

It was not uncomfortable. He liked the closeness. If Markus still had his LED, it would be blinking yellow as he booted back up.

Forty seconds passed and then Markus said, “Connor?”

“Yes?” Connor said, patiently.

Markus lifted himself onto his palms, wearily. “I'm still inside you.”

“Yes,” Connor said. “I don't mind.”

“Good, because I don't think I can move.”

“You're so dramatic,” Connor said, fondly.

Markus hummed into his ear and snaked one arm under him, pressing them together.

“You know,” Connor said, “humans—and sometimes bonobos—are the only mammals who copulate face to face?”

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

“I wonder if that's because humans evolved with their eyes in the front?”

“But we're not humans,” Markus mused. “Or primates. Or even animals.”

“But we were made in their image,” Connor said. “Although, we don't need to look into each other's eyes in order to share how we're feeling.” He retracted the skin on his hand and cupped the back of Markus's head, letting his feelings of pleasant, satiated drowsiness, and fondness and comfort, transfer to him.

Markus sighed against his neck. “You know, my original plan was to sit in a hot bath for half an hour, then get into bed and just sort of lie there and let you do all the work.”

“We can still do that,” Connor said, realizing he sounded perhaps overeager. “I would like to do that. You do so much for others; I like knowing that I can take care of you sometimes.” He pictured it: having Markus laid out on the sheets, naked and damp and waiting – when had he become so human in his desires? 

Markus grunted softly as he pulled away from him and sat back on his heels. He looked wrecked, with his suit still on, mussed up and wrinkled, exhaustion on his face like he wanted to power down right now.

“Are you consulting tomorrow?” Markus asked.

“No,” Connor said, with a rush of relief that was still alien to him. There was more than his job now; more than the mission, more than what he had been programmed for. “Or the day after. The case is closed; I've got two whole days.”

“I told North I would need some time to recharge, too.”

“I'll run the water for you?” Connor said.

“Thank you.”

Sometimes Markus asked him to join him in the bath, but not tonight, and that was okay - they didn't have to share every moment, and sometimes space was a comfort, too. 

Understanding of that fact broadsided him suddenly: Markus knew that he would never be upset or feel hurt by that request. Sex was great, but nothing, he now knew, meant more than the knowledge that he was trusted. He vowed to work every single day to continue to be worthy of that.

Markus pulled him upright by his hands, gave him a brief but hard kiss, and said, “We've got nothing but time.”

Connor led him upstairs to run the water.

** ** ** **


End file.
